The hum of 99,000 voices inside the Spotify Camp Nou rolled like thunder across the warm August night.
Flares burned in the stands, chants echoed like battle hymns, and flags of blue and garnet rippled in the humid breeze.
It wasn't just matchday; it was the dawn of a new war.
Samuel Moses, boots polished to a mirror shine, stood in the tunnel, eyes closed, inhaling the charged air. The smell of wet grass, sweat, and adrenaline washed over him, a drug he'd been deprived of for too long.
'Ah… I've missed this feeling'. He grinned, locking eyes with his friends, as they all had knowing looks on their faces.
They all felt the same way that he did.
Playing preseason games was one thing, but the real La Liga competition, it was a different ball game entirely. The level of players, the level of motivation, the stakes, the clash of wills… all of it was at peak intensity.
"Three minutes," a stadium official announced, voice trembling slightly at the sight of football's living legend.
Pedri nudged Sam's shoulder, a grin playing on his lips. "Nervous?"
Sam smirked. "Never".
Behind them, Gavi slapped his gloves together. "They think last season was luck," he said, voice hard. "Let's remind them it wasn't".
Balde added, adjusting his shin pads. "Remind them? No… let's terrify them".
Their captain for the night, Lewandowski, gathered them briefly. "We start fast, we end faster. Our system only works if every one of us bleeds for it. Press high, suffocate them. No mercy".
Sam glanced down the line of players; Yamal's focused glare, De Jong's quiet readiness, Kounde bouncing on his toes like a coiled spring.
Even Jose Garcia, the young goalkeeper who was somehow already stealing Ter Stegen's spot clenched his fists, jaw set.
This wasn't just Barcelona. This was a machine built for carnage.
And as they matched out, the noise detonated.
KABOOM!
"Barca!" "Barca!" "Barca!"
Chants from the fans shook the concrete, a sizeable number of them holding up massive banners to support the team.
["Forging a Legacy Begins Tonight."]
["Football God: Our Eternal Ten."]
The opposition, Real Betis, clad in green and white, looked tense but determined. They'd seen Sam's heroics last season. They'd watch him in the World Cup singlehandedly pick entire nations apart.
They knew the danger. But they also knew pride; they wouldn't kneel easily.
Hansi Flick started in his regular 4-2-3-1 with Jose Garcia in goal, with a defensive quadruple of Kounde, Araujo, Pau Cubarsi, and Alejandro Balde ahead of him. The twin center midfield duos were Gavi and Pedri.
In center attacking midfield was Sam Moses, flanking him to his left and right were Lamine Yamal and Raphinha respectively.
Robert Lewandowski led the line as the striker.
It didn't take long.
FWEEE!
The referee's whistle pierced the air like an electric mandate.
Then…
BZZZ!
All hell broke loose on the pitch.
From the first touch, Barcelona's system ignited… a wildfire pressing high, hunting in packs like wolves in the wild.
In the 1st minute of the game, Pedri swiveled past two midfielders, sliding a quick ball to Sam, who with a flick of his boot split the defense, feeding Lewandowski.
"What a pass! So early!" The commentator screamed.
Lewandowski didn't rush as a curling shot from him forced Betis's goalkeeper into a desperate save. The crowd roared in approval.
Barcelona put more pressure on the gas.
In the 4th minute, Gavi, snarling like a predator, crunched into a tackle that won back possession, sparking wave of chants.
"Gavi!" "Gavi!"
In the 7th minute, Yamal danced down the wing with effortless flair, nutmegging his marker, lofting a cross that Balde nearly volleyed home.
Barca was relentless. They were everywhere.
And Real Betis? They scrambled, trying everything to stay in the game. Every misplaced pass was punished, every touch contested as Barca dominated.
And then in the 15th minute, Sam finally took center stage.
Receiving a diagonal ball from Pau Cubarsi, he killed it dead with one touch, spun, and burst past two midfielders like they were rooted in mud.
BOOM!
The stadium erupted, thousands rising to their feet as he surged toward the box like an assassin in motion.
The Real Betis defense backpedaled in panic.
With a sudden elastic, he left Betis's right back sprawling before firing a venomous strike from 20 yards.
Crack!
It came off the crossbar, bouncing out for Lewandowski whose follow up header was clawed away by the goalkeeper.
The roar that followed wasn't disappointment, it was fear and awe. They saw it already, the Football God hadn't faded. If anything, he was sharper now.
But Betis wasn't here to be spectators.
In the 28th minute, they launched a blistering counterattack. A quick one-two split Cubarsi and Araujo, forcing Jose Garcia into his first save of the game, a miraculous diving save.
For a heartbeat, Camp Nou gasped.
This wasn't going to be a stroll. This was war, and Betis wanted blood.
As halftime neared, Barcelona doubled down in their bid to draw first blood, hammering the opposition goal with wave after wave of attacks.
Pedri's curled effort in the 34th minute just tipped over, eliciting gasps from the fans. Yamal's strike just 3 minutes later in the 37th minute was blocked on the line, truly turning the atmosphere in the stadium stratospheric.
To add fuel to the fire, Sam was denied a penalty after being clipped in the box in the 40th minute. Barcelona fans protested. The referee gave them no heed.
"What a game we're having!" The commentator raved.
"Damn! What domination from Barca! But we have to comment Real Betis too, what guts, what resilience from the visitors!"
"They're making a statement to FC Barcelona, 'You may be the reigning champions, but we won't make it easy for you'".
"What a spectacle here at the Spotify Camp Nou!"
The referee blew the whistle for halftime: 0-0, a cauldron boiling over.
In the tunnel, Sam wiped sweat from his brow, staring at his teammates with fire in his eyes.
"We've sharpened ourselves for months," he growled. "Now we must draw blood".
And somewhere in Madrid, at the Bernabeu, Real Madrid prepared to kick off their own opening clash against Sevilla.
Two titans, marching on parallel paths.
And soon, they'd collide.